Showing posts with label Roger Esty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roger Esty. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
More on Moyer by Roger Esty
FIGHT TO THE FINISH
I remember Denny Moyer. I remember a lot of fighters like him that were fighting too long. But whether they needed the money or not they seemed not to care. I think they knew in the back of their minds that things would only get worse. They never talked about it because that would be sniveling and fighters don't snivel. Denny Moyer wasn't a sniveler. Nice enough guy sober. Get him drunk,which didn't take much doing,and you better be on his right side. But sniveling? Naw,how can you have fun complaining?
The stories we read about the Moyers back to the Langfords,and recently the Gatti's and Arguellos,and the recent HBO documentary on the Resto/Collins fight-it's part of the world of boxing. We feel for them,but what can we do? Boxing isn't one of those sports where kids are honed like Little League. (Remember that Walt Disney series,'Moochie And The Little League?).Can you imagine Walt Disney putting together a kids' show called "Moochie And The Boxing Ring?" Society would push The Society For The Prevention Of Cruelties To Animals to the back burner.
Big venues for boxing are Vegas and Atlantic City. Gamblers are on it like flies on sh-t. There'll never be a world or even a national commission to control it because the leeches would have to move on.The leeches are in control. Congress won't do anything except ask basesball players about steroids.
If Denny is coherent I don't think he'd want anyone to feel sorry for him.It's good that he has his wife. I've always thought fighters' wives are the best. Their bridge to heaven is their suffering watching their husbands engage in the ring. But wherever Denny is,I think he's still trying to find a good time.Too bad we all cry watching him struggle.
I remember Denny Moyer. I remember a lot of fighters like him that were fighting too long. But whether they needed the money or not they seemed not to care. I think they knew in the back of their minds that things would only get worse. They never talked about it because that would be sniveling and fighters don't snivel. Denny Moyer wasn't a sniveler. Nice enough guy sober. Get him drunk,which didn't take much doing,and you better be on his right side. But sniveling? Naw,how can you have fun complaining?
The stories we read about the Moyers back to the Langfords,and recently the Gatti's and Arguellos,and the recent HBO documentary on the Resto/Collins fight-it's part of the world of boxing. We feel for them,but what can we do? Boxing isn't one of those sports where kids are honed like Little League. (Remember that Walt Disney series,'Moochie And The Little League?).Can you imagine Walt Disney putting together a kids' show called "Moochie And The Boxing Ring?" Society would push The Society For The Prevention Of Cruelties To Animals to the back burner.
Big venues for boxing are Vegas and Atlantic City. Gamblers are on it like flies on sh-t. There'll never be a world or even a national commission to control it because the leeches would have to move on.The leeches are in control. Congress won't do anything except ask basesball players about steroids.
If Denny is coherent I don't think he'd want anyone to feel sorry for him.It's good that he has his wife. I've always thought fighters' wives are the best. Their bridge to heaven is their suffering watching their husbands engage in the ring. But wherever Denny is,I think he's still trying to find a good time.Too bad we all cry watching him struggle.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Roger Esty and Mando Muniz
I'm happy to say that my friend, San Diego artist Roger Esty will be showcasing his paintings at the World Boxing Hall of Fame this year. His art work will also be gracing the cover of the WBHF's 2009 program cover. Congratulations Rog! Kudos to Rick Farris for his hard work in making it happen.
The World Boxing Hall of Fame is very lucky to have Roger on it's team.
When you think of all the postive energy that flows thru a person when they experience the gratification of artistic recognition, well, it's a gift.
Lot's of people have receieved that gift thru Roger.
Now, the special fighters we respect will experience that feeling.
It may not be unique to them, but something they hadn't felt in ages.
It will rub off on fans, that energy. I've seen it happen.
All this from one man's hands & eyes.
We are all imperfect, but most of us have something that is perfect, if only the world could see it.
Something that defines our spirit.
You can see it in all of Roger's paintings. The fighters spirit, and the artists spirit.
Together they are a powerful force, that's what I see and feel.
Personally, I can't wait to see the cover of this year's World Boxing Hall of Fame banquet program.
That publication will be permanently kept at:
The United States Capitol Historical Society
200 Maryland Ave. Washington D.C. 20505
Los angeles County Museum of Natural History
900 Exposition Bvd. Los Angeles, Calif. 90007
Bancroft Library, University of California
Berkley, Calif. 94720
This is going to be the first historically correct program with regard to our "honor roll" in years.
If it's not, look in my direction because I'm responsible.
The first thing that people will notice is the cover. It has to be special.
We can rest easy on that one. This year we have Roger.
-Rick Farris
Photo by Rick Farris
"Roger Esty and Armando Muniz review photos of Roger's paintings at WBHOF Director's meeting today." Rick Farris
"El Pintor De Los Campeones"
The World Boxing Hall of Fame is very lucky to have Roger on it's team.
When you think of all the postive energy that flows thru a person when they experience the gratification of artistic recognition, well, it's a gift.
Lot's of people have receieved that gift thru Roger.
Now, the special fighters we respect will experience that feeling.
It may not be unique to them, but something they hadn't felt in ages.
It will rub off on fans, that energy. I've seen it happen.
All this from one man's hands & eyes.
We are all imperfect, but most of us have something that is perfect, if only the world could see it.
Something that defines our spirit.
You can see it in all of Roger's paintings. The fighters spirit, and the artists spirit.
Together they are a powerful force, that's what I see and feel.
Personally, I can't wait to see the cover of this year's World Boxing Hall of Fame banquet program.
That publication will be permanently kept at:
The United States Capitol Historical Society
200 Maryland Ave. Washington D.C. 20505
Los angeles County Museum of Natural History
900 Exposition Bvd. Los Angeles, Calif. 90007
Bancroft Library, University of California
Berkley, Calif. 94720
This is going to be the first historically correct program with regard to our "honor roll" in years.
If it's not, look in my direction because I'm responsible.
The first thing that people will notice is the cover. It has to be special.
We can rest easy on that one. This year we have Roger.
-Rick Farris
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
EYESIGHT TO THE BLIND
By Roger Esty
I think one of a fighter's first signs of realizing that he's slipping is when he comes in second with his jab. I was sitting with Ronnie Wilson and Denny Moyer and the rest of the guys after a training sesiion at the Coliseum when I over heard the two friends discuss the matter.
They lamented the fact that their opponents were timing the punch. When the Irish boys would start their jab their opposition would jump their lefts in their faces before they could connect with theirs. The snap was gone. The jab was heavy.
The futility of it was that they knew there was nothing they could do to recapture the past. Besides, they'd been fighting a long time. They didn't look forward to training anymore. They hoped they just would fight a guy who had no jab. I think that was the punch they worried about the most when they climbed through the rops. The jab,if it was a good one,was somethin' they couldn't see coming until it peppered their pan. The scartissue around their eyes attested to the fact.
It was fun to watch them fight though. It was fun because I knew them. Now,looking back,I wouldn't have seen it that way. From what's been kicked around, both fellas' are hurt as they advance towards old age. There's nothin' they can do about that either. No one can do anything about preventing the aging process,but to bring a hurt fighter into that arena is something I don't like to think about.
Ronnie and Denny probably couldn't see that comin' either.
I think one of a fighter's first signs of realizing that he's slipping is when he comes in second with his jab. I was sitting with Ronnie Wilson and Denny Moyer and the rest of the guys after a training sesiion at the Coliseum when I over heard the two friends discuss the matter.
They lamented the fact that their opponents were timing the punch. When the Irish boys would start their jab their opposition would jump their lefts in their faces before they could connect with theirs. The snap was gone. The jab was heavy.
The futility of it was that they knew there was nothing they could do to recapture the past. Besides, they'd been fighting a long time. They didn't look forward to training anymore. They hoped they just would fight a guy who had no jab. I think that was the punch they worried about the most when they climbed through the rops. The jab,if it was a good one,was somethin' they couldn't see coming until it peppered their pan. The scartissue around their eyes attested to the fact.
It was fun to watch them fight though. It was fun because I knew them. Now,looking back,I wouldn't have seen it that way. From what's been kicked around, both fellas' are hurt as they advance towards old age. There's nothin' they can do about that either. No one can do anything about preventing the aging process,but to bring a hurt fighter into that arena is something I don't like to think about.
Ronnie and Denny probably couldn't see that comin' either.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Company You Keep - By Roger Esty
The little I saw of Denny Moyer at the end was food for thought. I wasn't that involved with boxing in San Diego. I hung around the various gyms on occasion and would go to the fights on a pretty much weekly basis. I knew some of the fighters. Not well,but enough where they recognized me and we could talk. I guess for whatever reason when Sid Flaherity came to San Diego he brought with him Denny Moyer. The big fight venues were gone. After losing to Monzon for the title,San Diego was as good a place as any to wind things up for the kid with the baby face. Besides, Flaherity had opened a camp in the foothills for what he had left in his stable of fighters. It was also the home for his kennel of Malmutes.When I saw Denny Moyer up close for the first time,I could see the age on him. The saggy chest and shoulders. The softness in his body. Then when I'd see him drink,i knew it was more than fighting and age that made him look older. Older and slower. More prone to opening up his cuts. It was all he knew how to do to make a living I guess. He had enough in him to beat the bums. But when he found a character like Ronnie Wilson, abstinence was out of the question.
I was in my early twenties then. My direction wasn't well focused. When I was invited ,I liked getting drunk with those fellows.
"I got drunk with Denny Moyer. Used to be the Champ."
Big deal. Flaherity should have told Denny to stay away from guys like me. The thing is Sid probably was telling him that for years. Old habits are hard to break. Maybe Malmutes are more dependable. Sid probably never had to worry about his dogs going on a binge.
Monday, March 16, 2009
LADY AND THE CHAMP
By Roger Esty
Sometimes I think fighters' wives take as much of a beating as their husbands. I could make list,but I'll try this couple. I won't mention the names because it's not important. The expug wasn't a high profile guy. Had his share of fights. During the 50's when there were a slew of fighters, he was somwhere in the middle. That was his average. He never got to the upper tier,but he never languished at the bottom of the barrel either.
If you look at his pan and know anything about sports,you know only a fighter's mug could turn out that way. His wife has been with him from the early days. Now instead of rubbing his sore muscles after a fight,she rubs his hands to get the circulation going. She told me once that she never liked to see her man in the ring. Maybe it was the apprehensive female that worried about his safety.
In the end he came out of it with a face full of scars. Those scars today are faded white lines. The eyelids are droopy. When he smiles a lot of his face doesn't want to take the upswing with the rest of it. It's a little sad to see him smile because all the skin that's hangin' is kind of saying ,"this is what came from all the years of forgetting when to duck."
But I like that face. He didn't pussy foot around. He did a man's thing. He heard the cheers and he heard the boos. His wife was always his best cornerman. She will always be that. She heard the boos at the end too. She's still cheerin'.
Sometimes I think fighters' wives take as much of a beating as their husbands. I could make list,but I'll try this couple. I won't mention the names because it's not important. The expug wasn't a high profile guy. Had his share of fights. During the 50's when there were a slew of fighters, he was somwhere in the middle. That was his average. He never got to the upper tier,but he never languished at the bottom of the barrel either.
If you look at his pan and know anything about sports,you know only a fighter's mug could turn out that way. His wife has been with him from the early days. Now instead of rubbing his sore muscles after a fight,she rubs his hands to get the circulation going. She told me once that she never liked to see her man in the ring. Maybe it was the apprehensive female that worried about his safety.
In the end he came out of it with a face full of scars. Those scars today are faded white lines. The eyelids are droopy. When he smiles a lot of his face doesn't want to take the upswing with the rest of it. It's a little sad to see him smile because all the skin that's hangin' is kind of saying ,"this is what came from all the years of forgetting when to duck."
But I like that face. He didn't pussy foot around. He did a man's thing. He heard the cheers and he heard the boos. His wife was always his best cornerman. She will always be that. She heard the boos at the end too. She's still cheerin'.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Arena 72
By Roger Esty
POP POP POP
The Arena 72 was just north of Aguas Caliente Boulevard near the race track. It was built in 1972 so it got its name. The bigger fights were held at the Municipal Auditorium or the downtown bullring. One thing all three venues had in common:the opponent was going to fight in their house. The out of towner,or the foreigner. You were in TJ now. You had to be ready or else.
I loved the atmosphere at the Olympic ,San Diego's Coliseum,the ball parks. If it was Mexican fighters, the fans in the stands were at one with the fighters. But in Mexico ,you were in their house. Don't pull any of this "in the U.S. we do it this way."
Whether it was the fights or ,for example a Vicente Fernandez concert,once you left the arena here in the
states it was back to "Gringolandia". In Mexico you were saturated "puro Mexicano." The feel never left you once you left the arena. The smell of the Mexican diesel,the manteca crackling, the smoke from the fires that burned the trash in the colonias. The taco carts with their vats of horchata and jamaica.The packs dogs running through the crowd's feet. The dirt lots. The aficianados were in their element. Come and enjoy what it's like at the fights,but we don't want your suggestions. We do it the same way. Put on the gloves in the ring. The photographers flashing the bulbs of their cameras at the fighters and the referee. The dead rattlesnake and the bloody woman's underpants being tossed around. The cops standing there doing nothing. Don't correct us. Asi es.
I'm not going to talk about a particular fight. Whether it was in the tiny Arena 72 or outdoors in the bullring.The chifles inundating the air. There would be firecrackers going off. I can smell the smoke from those cuetes now.
POP POP POP
The Arena 72 was just north of Aguas Caliente Boulevard near the race track. It was built in 1972 so it got its name. The bigger fights were held at the Municipal Auditorium or the downtown bullring. One thing all three venues had in common:the opponent was going to fight in their house. The out of towner,or the foreigner. You were in TJ now. You had to be ready or else.
I loved the atmosphere at the Olympic ,San Diego's Coliseum,the ball parks. If it was Mexican fighters, the fans in the stands were at one with the fighters. But in Mexico ,you were in their house. Don't pull any of this "in the U.S. we do it this way."
Whether it was the fights or ,for example a Vicente Fernandez concert,once you left the arena here in the
states it was back to "Gringolandia". In Mexico you were saturated "puro Mexicano." The feel never left you once you left the arena. The smell of the Mexican diesel,the manteca crackling, the smoke from the fires that burned the trash in the colonias. The taco carts with their vats of horchata and jamaica.The packs dogs running through the crowd's feet. The dirt lots. The aficianados were in their element. Come and enjoy what it's like at the fights,but we don't want your suggestions. We do it the same way. Put on the gloves in the ring. The photographers flashing the bulbs of their cameras at the fighters and the referee. The dead rattlesnake and the bloody woman's underpants being tossed around. The cops standing there doing nothing. Don't correct us. Asi es.
I'm not going to talk about a particular fight. Whether it was in the tiny Arena 72 or outdoors in the bullring.The chifles inundating the air. There would be firecrackers going off. I can smell the smoke from those cuetes now.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
QUE BARBARO
By Roger Esty
The first time he lost. The crowd knew it. The referee Berumen knew it. So did Sulieman. He gave the order to end it the way it did. And Mantequilla knew it. He was out of shape, but he was in there with a hungry kid by the name of Armando Muniz.
Jose by that time did as little training as possible to get by. You'd see his genius. He'd win,but he wasn't pushin' it. Between the race track,his night club,his trumpet,and drinking late at night with Jose Alfredo,Jose Napoles had discarded the Spartan way of training.
However that night in Acapulco, that Muniz kid was kicking the shit out of him. He couldn't keep him off him. It was getting late and the Butter Man was melting. So Jose started swinging low. Figure Muniz would retaliate hitting below the border too, but Mando kept his cool. Do that and you lose on a DQ. So Sulieman sees his meal ticket waning and tells the ref to award Jose the winner on a foul anyway. It stunk. Even the aficanados knew it stunk.
They have to fight again. It's only fair. Right? This time the old master trains. He'll be in shape to catch him with hooks and uppercuts. His skill will determine victory. He'll train for this one. And the kid? He knows only one way. Put pressure on those old legs. But Mantequilla was his old self. It was the last time we'd see it.
I saw the rematch on the big screen in Tijuana at the auditorium. Jose looked fit. The definition showed. Mando pressed. Mantequilla used his craft expertly. Yes ,he was against the ropes,but he countered everything. After a few rounds began the blood.
Muniz knew the old man had him figured out this time around. He pressed like before hoping Jose would tire. They both fought for their lives. Napoles's eyes started to tear apart worse than ever, but so did Mando's. No DQ's tonight. Both guys were crimson. They were wearing their red badges of courage. It was all over the ring,the ringsiders,and we were bleeding with them. They were rocking each other. The announcer, the crowd, everyone watching the big screen was enthralled.
"Que barbaro!"
That was every other word from the mouths of the witnesses to this carnage.
"Que barbaro!" we were gasping.
Incredible. You want it to stop because you think one of them might get hurt seriously. Maybe die. But let it act out. Don't stop it. The conclusion must be seen. Painfull,but it must be seen to its conclusion.
The final bell. Both men standing impassively in the ring. Eyes shredded. Purple lumps on their faces. Lips torn apart. Blood matted on their chests. Sweat and blood everywhere. To watch them after 15 rounds of attrition stand silently. The blood trickling down their faces. They seemed at peace. At peace after all they had given to each other.
"Que barbaro!"*
"que barbaro" means "wow" in Spaniosh.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Pearl Harbor
By Roger Esty
They say 2000 World War II vets die each day.Today is Pearl Harbor Day. I heard an interview this morning with one of the last survivors of that Day of Infamy. Harder and harder to find those guys now a days. Yeh,he was scared all right. Get blind sided like that and you're reacting on instincts.
"All I could think of was getting the hell out of there," said the old soldier.
His voice was soft like he was bringing it all back when he was talking to the news reporter. He brings it back everyday. Probably doesn't talk much about it unless someone asks.Most of his pals are gone.The ones that were beside him that day. Not many around that know what happened on December 7th. Just as many don't care. Watching the NFL game. Not a word of it today. More interest in the local team. That's more important. Not really, but 1941 was so long ago. Look at an old man today and wonder what he was doing on December 7th.
DeLa Hoya lost. Were you disappointed? Did your team lose today? If you feel bad about these things,at least you're around to feel bad about it. We can thank the old soldiers and sailors and Marines that were scared as hell 67 years ago who made that all possible. They made it all possible because once they understood their fear, they used it to beat the devil.
They say 2000 World War II vets die each day.Today is Pearl Harbor Day. I heard an interview this morning with one of the last survivors of that Day of Infamy. Harder and harder to find those guys now a days. Yeh,he was scared all right. Get blind sided like that and you're reacting on instincts.
"All I could think of was getting the hell out of there," said the old soldier.
His voice was soft like he was bringing it all back when he was talking to the news reporter. He brings it back everyday. Probably doesn't talk much about it unless someone asks.Most of his pals are gone.The ones that were beside him that day. Not many around that know what happened on December 7th. Just as many don't care. Watching the NFL game. Not a word of it today. More interest in the local team. That's more important. Not really, but 1941 was so long ago. Look at an old man today and wonder what he was doing on December 7th.
DeLa Hoya lost. Were you disappointed? Did your team lose today? If you feel bad about these things,at least you're around to feel bad about it. We can thank the old soldiers and sailors and Marines that were scared as hell 67 years ago who made that all possible. They made it all possible because once they understood their fear, they used it to beat the devil.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
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Thursday, September 4, 2008
Joey Giardello
The painting of Joey Giardello is
courtesy of artist Roger Esty
courtesy of artist Roger Esty
Carmine Orlando Tilelli AKA Joey GiardelloJuly 16, 1930-September 4, 2008
Middleweight Champion 1963-1965
Joey Giardello's Boxing Record
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A Different Place by Roger Esty
Courtesy of Roger Esty
A DIFFERENT PLACE
A DIFFERENT PLACE
Look at a boxing ring. Go to an empty gym and look at the ring. Simple structure. Strands of rope attached to ring posts and a canvas mat. A work place and theater for the sport of boxing. Inside the ring is the most unforgiving place in the world. Once you are inside the ring you are expected to accept what comes at you. It is not friendly. Sympathy is a vacuum. If you can't take what's going on in there,there's no law saying you have to go back in. But if you make the decision to get inside the ring,you are on your own. You have to find something inside yourself to survive in there. Don't look at your corner to help you. You have to punch. Protect yourself. You are on your own. When the work inside the ring is over,you leave with a satisfaction that you were tested when you had no one with you. Alone, you withstood the test. If you can do it alone,you know you can do anything.
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